


I've been meaning to start running away again

by torres



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torres/pseuds/torres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fernando tries to get over Sergio, fails every time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've been meaning to start running away again

Sergio was fire. Smouldering and dangerous. But Liverpool was a little bit too cold for a little too long, Fernando’s forgotten how hot, hot heat felt like, playing on his skin.

At least on most days.

Aragones blew his shrilly whistle and told the squad to pair off for stretching exercises and the boys snickered among themselves because this was the awkward part. Cameras flashed endlessly and the spectators gave one wolf whistle too many that Alvaro hid his face in embarrassment as the new ones always do. Ruben made a goofy face at the camera and Villa rolled his eyes in exasperation. Iker yelled his head off that if they didn’t stop fooling around, someone would tear an adductor in no time and he wouldn’t be very happy. Pepe was being stretched underneath him and was wincing because Iker was bearing down hard – literally – on his poor legs. (“Your leg? That’s Liverpool’s leg!” His inner Bill Shankly shouted at him angrily.)

“On your back, Torres,” Sergio tapped his shoulder and he sounded no-nonsense, all-business. Except when it was Sergio it was probably anything but.

Fernando relented because he figured he should be mature, composed (– over this). The grass tickled at his nape and Sergio’s fingers delicately wrapped around his ankle, even more so.

“Painful?” Sergio asked, pushing Fernando’s leg higher. His thigh muscles strained, his joints complained, but Fernando shook his head because his skin burned deliciously at Sergio’s hand teasingly rubbing soothing circles behind his knee.

Sergio was fire. Smouldering and dangerous. Fernando had turned cold long ago.

But some days he remembered some things he forgot.

*

“Over here!” Fernando yelled as he quickly cut through the five-a-side’s defence like a hot knife through butter, only to have Xavi pass the ball half a yard to Iniesta.

The striker threw his hands up in frustration at them as he jogged back into midfield, impatiently snatching the ball away from Iniesta and driving forward. By that time, the defenders had already anticipated his movement and Puyol and Sergio already covered him tightly, the Catalan booting the ball away to safety.

“You’re going too fast, baby,” Sergio said mockingly, pushing Fernando back a few yards as he marked him more closely this time around.

“Funny, that’s always been my line when you try to get into my pants,” Fernando grunted as he shoved back, giving himself some space to accept a pass (if the ball ever made it up the field).

Sergio smirked, letting his fingers dart underneath Fernando’s shirt, caressing just above the garter of his shorts. “I never did have to try very hard.”

*

“I miss you, Fernando,” Sergio already said before Fernando had even closed the door of their hotel room.

Fernando didn’t want anything to do with this, but he didn’t trust himself to speak either. So he just wordlessly entered their bedroom and kicked off his shoes and socks.

“I want you, Fernando,” Sergio moaned softly into the striker’s ear. Fernando moved away still, but Sergio wouldn’t allow it. The blink of an eye, strong arms around a narrow waist, and Fernando had nowhere else to go.

“Just this summer. No strings attached.”

He knew Sergio would set this trap.

He predicted this was going to be the offer.

He told himself he would turn it down.

(But Sergio kissed him. Gently. And Fernando found himself parting his lips, asking – demanding – for more.)

Oh, well. Two out of three wasn’t bad.

*

Summer was a magical time of year.

The space between embittered seasons of fierce rivalries, where the only way one could win was to make the other lose. And for a few moments, they could put on the same shirt, wear the same colours, fight under the same name.

Summer was a tricky time of year.

No cares, no worries, the sun shone and shone even brighter – blindingly – off Sergio’s hair. Everyone was lighter, happier (riskier, stupider).

Sergio slipped off Fernando’s shirt before whipping off his own. Fernando wondered if this was just summer playing tricks on him.

But Sergio pulled down his track bottoms (too easily) and got down on his knees (too swiftly), and Fernando decided, no, this time it was all Sergio – only Sergio’s doing.

*

They’ve never been this tender before.

They won 2-1 against Peru and Sergio had played brilliantly. He should have been wild, horny, celebratory. Fernando had been utter crap in the game. He should have demanded angry, vindictive sex.

But they lay across Sergio’s bed, the Sevillan draped around him, slowly unbuttoning Fernando’s shirt, pressing feathery kisses over the skin being exposed. Sometimes, Fernando looked down as Sergio looked up and they would smile. There would be a soft, silent kiss between the two, no tongue, just lips.

“I found someone in Liverpool, you know. Daniel Agger,” Fernando said out loud, saying it to himself more than for anyone else.

“Hm,” was Sergio’s noncommittal reply, lightly running a finger around Fernando’s nipple.

“It’s nice and stable,” Fernando continued. “We don’t fight a lot. We don’t fight at all.”

Sergio fumbled with the zipper, but soon, he was pulling down the striker’s jeans.

“He doesn’t make me take him to fancy restaurants or the happening parties,” Fernando said, wriggling out of his trousers to help Sergio. “We don’t shop in the high street and we can stay at home on weekends and I can walk around in my pajamas and he doesn’t get mad.”

Sergio sat up and undressed as well, before yanking down Fernando’s underwear with two fingers.

“He’s not fussy and he’s not,” Fernando’s breath hitched as Sergio tried a sample stroke along his cock, “Complicated. But he’s –”

“He’s not me,” Sergio completed, bringing himself up to place a possessive kiss on Fernando, and this time it was thorough and convincing. Fernando moaned in satisfaction as Sergio pressed down, sucking on his bottom lip, then his upper lip, then his tongue and they were licking and biting and sucking some more.

Fernando broke apart to catch his breath, nodding reluctantly. “He’s not you.”

Sergio smirked triumphantly before moving down along Fernando’s body. He let the tip of his nose trace the striker’s jawline, drinking in the minty scent of his aftershave. Fernando’s breath got shallower as Sergio deftly nudged his legs apart and settled in between, their cocks aligned and rubbing, creating a steady friction. The two Spaniards groaned softly at the accidental contact but they determinedly sought for it again.

Fernando opened his legs wider, hurriedly cupping Sergio’s ass with both hands and driving him down against his raging erection. Sergio groaned loudly, burying his face against Fernando’s neck, letting his lips instinctively find the pulse and sucking hungrily. His hands rubbed the striker’s side, holding him down and keeping him from thrashing as his hips moved down urgently, rolling against Fernando’s. Sergio panted against the sensitive skin of Fernando’s neck, his torso straining as he rocked forward with a jabbing pace and Fernando moaned wantonly underneath him.

“Do you love him?” Sergio asked, guiding his cock on to Fernando’s entrance. Fernando didn’t answer, only gasped out loud at the sudden sensation of being stretched impossibly wide as the Sevillan entered him inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

“Do you love him?” Sergio demanded again, keeping perfectly still. Fernando threw an arm over his eyes and his hips bucked up eagerly. But he still didn’t answer Sergio’s question.

Dan was comfortable and easy and right, Fernando should really fall in love with him already.

Gritting his teeth, Sergio pulled out almost all the way out before driving all the way in again. Fernando bit his lip and moaned again.

“You can say his name if you want to,” Sergio coaxed shakily, the tightening heat around his member making his head spin.

“Dan...” Fernando panted weakly, half-heartedly, bucking up to meet Sergio’s thrusts.

Sergio traced the way Fernando’s muscles rippled with every contortion of his body, before resting on his throbbing cock and stroking it quickly.

“Sergio!” Fernando let out a strangled scream as he arched halfway off the bed.

And Sergio was all the things Dan was not.

Infuriating. Stubborn. Uncontrollable. Wild.

(The words echoed one by one inside his head in sync with every sharp thrust inside him.)

Maddening. Terrifying. Motherfucking tiring.

Hungry –

Fernando panted as Sergio started driving in more erratically now, gripping his cock tighter than before.

Insatiable –

Sergio twisted unexpectedly inside him and Fernando groaned louder than he thought he would.

Wrong.

Fernando came first, shuddering and gasping for air, Sergio’s name falling from his lips before either of them could pretend they didn’t hear it. Sergio came not a few minutes after, pumping in a few more times into Fernando’s sated body.

They were horrible for each other. A fucking disaster. Like an earthquake or a collision or a train wreck. His heart pounded violently against his chest when they were together.

But Fernando was fucked if he was going to get anywhere by staying inside the lines.


End file.
